How green was our Doon valley
FOR most Army officers, impressions of Dehradun, or Doon, go back to the years when as strapping teenagers they walked into the portals of the Indian Military Academy (IMA) as Gentlemen Cadets (GCs). The rigours of training apart, Doon, in the shadow of Mussoorie, had its own charm. Nature’s beauty abounded with forested belts, tree-lined roads, in stretches reminiscent of walking under a canopy of vibrant green leaves. The town had its attractions: the bakeries were a gourmet’s delight with their mouth-melting pastries, breads, unforgettable stick jaws. For the literary aficionados, there were bookshops of repute.
The climate and environment of Doon valley attracted numerous establishments, the early ones being the Survey of India (1767), training centres for Gurkha troops, the Forest Research Institute (1878), Rashtriya Indian Military College (1922) and the IMA (1932). It also developed into a schooling hub, starting with Saint Joseph’s Academy (1934), Doon School, Scholars Home and Welham Girls, to name a few.
The salubrious conditions made it a paradise for outdoor activities. Upper streams were loaded with trout and Mahseer for the angler and hunting till it was allowed. Dehradun was an attractive destination for retired officers from all services to settle down. A thoughtfully laid out network of small canals meandered through various parts, providing a freshness of their own.
The canals were a big asset for IMA, helping maintain its vast campus. The Academy boasted of well-manicured gardens, lawns, playgrounds, with flowering trees and shrubs all through the year. The campus was also a bird watcher’s delight. The experienced gardeners would vie with each other to present the pageantry, and flowers were in abundance — in the north from Chetwode Building, the Nizam Pavilion to the War Memorial, the Vikram Batra GCs’ Mess and their accommodation in the south. The Commandant’s Bungalow was an absolute treat and was open for all to enjoy.
However, when Uttarakhand was carved out of Uttar Pradesh in 2000, and Doon was declared as its winter capital, things began to change. Development cost Doon dearly, and the environmental downturn was the first casualty, to which I stood witness.
True to the Punjabi saying, ‘Dana pani khich ke liyanda, kaun kise da khanda hai (It is destiny which takes an individual to a place, as every grain of food has one’s name on it)’, I had three memorable tenures at the IMA. During the first two, in 1981-82 and then in the mid-1990s, the greenery and canals held on, and a stroll along any canal was invigorating to ‘refresh your soul by feeding your senses… like a humming bird drinking nectar’.
Traffic was limited, the solitude of a motorcycle ride to the town was amazing, one felt ‘like rays of shadow, (which) roam impenetrable in a cold of glass’. However, by the 1990s, traffic had increased manifold, and signs of a not-very-encouraging future were there to see.
It was a hat-trick when I arrived at Doon in 2008, but to an environmental shocker. A lid had been placed on most canals. Instead of finding a positive way out to maintain their beauty, thoughtlessly most were covered while widening the roads. Ruskin Bond in his heart-rending poem, ‘Dirge for Dehradun’, has laid bare the state of Doon: ‘I wonder where the green grass went? All buried under new cement. I wonder where the birds have flown? They’ve gone to find another home… What grows so fast before my eyes? A garbage dump, a million flies. Is this the place you celebrate? In prose you made it sound so great. It was, before I knew its fate.’
The natural charm of Doon seems a thing of the past; the cemented monstrosities, traffic and pollution are overwhelming. Thankfully, the stone quarrying along the Mussoorie mountains was banned, but the effect on the greenery and many gardens has been telling.
